Intense pain is betrayed in her grimaces (8:27), scowls (10:26) and cowers (10:39), in her grunting and in the way her right hand tries, futilely, again and again, to regulate his anal thrusts. The man is a porn idol, and the girl is a nobody. He chooses the positions and holes, paces the impalements, and manipulates her limbs, framing the geometry of her suffering. He forces her to admit that his cock is up her ass, and that it is too big (12:08). He neglects her cunt, the locus of her femininity, as much as her face, the locus of her personality and humanity, except to corrupt them with shit juice (10:35 "taste that ass"). If there is a nominal consensus in the act, there is none in its execution. Yet despite the abuse, she venerates his shit-glazed cock (11:29). The wardrobe designer deploys a bright plain t-shirt, powder blue socks, and berrettes, converting the young woman into a girl with admirable economy. The socks succeed particularly well.